Everything Else
by Samurai101
Summary: A collection of one-shots for every day in November. Ranging from AU to Canon to What-if, random characters, non-Naruto bits will be posted elsewhere.
1. 1::AU::Sasuke::Name Dropper

**A/N: Oh Random conglomeration. Titles are noted with date, AU, CA (Cannon) or WI (What If). Character names will also be tagged, even if two characters names are tagged, probably NOT a pairing. Individual warnings will be given before chapters as needed, if there is romance, warning will be given there. Yes, all romance needs a warning. ALL OF IT. :|**

**A lot of these will be guilty pleasure/stress relief bits along with some half formed ideas for bigger story arcs, so if anything strikes you fancy, be sure to let me know. It could turn into something more.  
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><p>"So, do you have experience in the music industry?"<p>

Sasuke looked at the man across from him. He shouldn't have bothered to get up for this audition. "You know Mangekyou?"

The man nodded. "Of course. After the lead guitarist died the lead singer quit the band and went on to create Sharingan records." One of the most well known record companies in the world, as well as one of the most successful.

"Yeah, Uchiha Madara's my grandfather. Izuna was my great-uncle." Sasuke gave the man a moment to look shocked. Sasuke held up another finger. "You know Conspiracy?"

"Vaguely—they were popular in the 70s. They blew up pretty fast." The man looked worried.

"Right after the lead singer married a roadie and got her pregnant on tour. Those were my parents." Sasuke held up another finger. "Bitter Nakano."

The man nodded more vigorously. "They were huge for about three years. I still sell their records. The tragic ending of the band—with Itachi almost killing Shisui, really gave the band a long life. People still follow Itachi's musical career…"

"Yeah, Itachi was my brother, Shisui my cousin." Sasuke waggled those four fingers. "As you know, Itachi went on to join the ANBU Orchestra briefly before joining Akatsuki." ANBU was still going strong today, and Akatsuki had a religious following.

Sasuke smiled. "Team 7?"

The man shook his head. "No."

"Good, they didn't make it far. How about Hebi?"

"Yes, they had a good occult following up until the band broke up last year."

"I was bassist and lead singer." Sasuke smiled and leaned his chin on his fisted hand. The man's rather stunned expression made getting up early for this stupid interview worth it. "So, yes, I have some experience in the music industry."


	2. 2::AU::Itachi Shisui::Best of You and Me

_But I swear I'll never leave you here.  
>Cause we deserve a second chance.<br>I promise I'm not looking back.  
>I'll love you till the end of this.<br>I'll take away your fear._

_I can't believe we're doing this.  
>And all the secrets that we've kept have kept us from the best of this.<br>The best of you and me._

Itachi stood with the pieces of his broken life in hand. Genius, they called him. Wonderful. Smart. Special. He could do anything. He was amazing. He was perfect.

So why did he hate himself? Why-why did everything he do seem hollow? It was never good enough. Every tiny failure(no, not failure, because he'd never really _failed_ at anything) hit him harder, knocked him lower than any success could ever lift him? Why, when everyone seemed to love him, did he hate himself? Why did he despise not the things he did, but the very core of his being-the essential parts that made up _who he was_. Why did he feel so useless, so extraneous? So...

Despicable?

It was embarrassing, this unreasonable feeling of self loathing that crawled up and strangled him in the middle of his greatest moments. He considered confessing to depression, but he had his days of delight, happiness, and the gentle ups and sharp downs did not effect his ability to function. Not really. He didn't think about suicide. Or he hadn't. Not for ages-he'd shied away from that idea for years. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live, to be happy, to fulfill something that he could never find.

He could never find any of that. Just cold hatred and anger. Just frustration bottled up tight inside, never allowed to fully manifest. There were breaks in controls sometime that manifested as smashed projects, deleted files. Little parts of wonderful things that made Itachi proud enough to be sick. Proud enough he wanted to gouge his eyes out, cut off his hands, puke until he could taste nothing but bile. Didn't he deserve some pride? Shouldn't he feel accomplished in every good thing he did? He did good things. He did great things.

Why wasn't that enough?

Itachi sat on the edge of the concrete bridge railing. The river was swollen this week. The Nakano raged as an angry, righteous god imbued with might beyond his means. For a moment, Itachi had the desire to be swept away in that river, to be lost, to be nothing.

To be free.

Death held no allure, but the river did. He wanted to plunge so deeply down he'd never be found again. He wanted to be wrapped in the anger and might of something stronger than he was. He wanted to let go. His hands curled against the rough concrete, and his breath fogged into the cold air. He wanted to let go. To fly down. He wanted...he was going too...

He was going to fly. He was going to crash. He was going to be smashed and drowned and imbued with the anger he couldn't make himself feel. It felt so fitting-so right. Itachi just wanted to fall. He wanted it. Needed it. He didn't understand it, but he felt it. Wasn't that reason enough? Itachi swung his legs and shifted his body. One push. One push. One fall. One-

Arms wrapped around him-held him back, grounded him against something real. Gloved fingers knotted in his jacket. Itachi felt the press of a cold face against the back of his neck. A second heartbeat joined his. A second cloud of breath bloomed out into the night. Two hands. Two hearts. Two breaths.

"Don't. It's not that bad." A rough voice, hoarse and silk all at once, emotion filled, tinged with desperation. Itachi's hands fell away from the concrete and folded over the hands hanging onto him. He held on. Tight.

"Okay."

The seconds breath rushed out in a relieved sigh. "Okay."

The arms lifted Itachi up and away like he was a child, whirling him from the edge of the bridge and back onto the safety of the sidewalk. Itachi let himself be man handled, curling up and then setting his feet on the ground. Itachi looked down at the hands he gripped, and he knew he should be awkward and embarrassed that someone had seen him like that. He knew he should peel his white knuckled grip from the white and blue gloves.

The arms flexed and Itachi was spun around again, like a dancer guided through complicated steps. His grip shifted, and his own arms crossed as he came to face the man who'd dragged him back from the edge. The man was tall, stringy as he looked down at Itachi. His skin was evenly tanned, the curve of his pink lips, thinner than full, cracked. As Itachi looked, the man's tongue darted out, wetting the cracked skin, maybe nervous. The jaw was defined, clean and not as masculine as it could have been. There wasn't any down on it, but Itachi could see the curls of hair coming around the pierced earlobes that tickled the jaw.

The hands shifted to envelope Itachi's hands. "You're freezing." The lips and tongue and white teeth pushed the words out in a puff of smoke. Itachi blinked. Watched-stared-_mesmerized_. He was afraid to see what was above those lips.

"Hey, are you okay?" The man bent down, lips bobbing low, out of sight. "You don't look so good."

Itachi finally looked up, slowly, hesitantly. The eyes were tilted, outlined with liner to emphasize this. The eyes were brown-dark and deep and (even though Itachi always hated the description in books) dark chocolate rich and warm. Warm like they actually cared. Like Itachi mattered. Like he was important. Itachi looked up. Up to the black, black, _black_ curls of hair sprouting from under the red and white ski cap. He looked at the jaunty little pompom on top of the man's head.

Itachi took a breath. "I'm fine."

He was always fine. Itachi blinked and felt a constriction on his chest. He wasn't fine at all, was he? The gloved hands seemed to cup his more.

"Hey."

The tone, the word, the gentle coaxing tug as Itachi was drawn a little closer. Itachi blinked and looked down at those eyes. Warm. Warm eyes in a cold night.

"I hate myself."

He'd said it, and the eyes didn't change. Not really. Maybe they got warmer but Itachi didn't see much of them as he was folded into a hug that crushed him against the smell of chlorine and coffee and orange. A hand cradled the back of his head, gentle, _gentle_, loving, warming, guarding.

So much better than the cold embrace of the river.


	3. 3::AU::Itachi Shisui::Just Another Phase

Shisui's cowboy phase was sort of adorable.

In an annoying, scientifically fascinating way.

It was rebellion, of course. More about rebelling against Madara than his father, but rebellion still against the dominant male authority in his life. Itachi always got the urge to pull out his notepad and make notes when he was around Shisui now. The extent Shisui was taking this too was just astounding. And everything was so different for them both.

Itachi had to admit, the fussing about the clothes was probably most amusing. Shisui's faded, well loved and comfortable jeans stayed the same. The cowboy hat was just ridiculous, jammed on Shisui's curling riot of hair. Sort of charming in its own way, but still ridiculous. There were cowboy boots to be bought and fitted, belts and buckles and an entirely new posture that needed to be practiced until it was brought to perfection-or a fair imitation of people in Western movies.

There were many Westerns watched, books read. Shisui turned over and start listening to Country, another fascinating phenomenon Itachi hadn't ever really been exposed to. That peculiar drawl and whine stopped being indecipherable and annoying after a while. Itachi wasn't sure Shisui really liked it, but it fit with this new persona he was trying to cultivate for himself. Compared to the people Itachi knew, Shisui was starting to look very country/Western/cowboy.

When they actually attended a rodeo, Shisui looked half-baked. He just lacked something everyone else exuded like the musky smell of sweat. Itachi didn't really care. Shisui leaned against the arena railing, watched the cowboys and girls and horses with that bright fascination in his eyes. Itachi didn't point out how Shisui didn't fit, how he would never really fit into this world for hundreds of different reasons. He just sat down, shut up, and helped Shisui find how-to videos on youtube for hours of covert training.

If Shisui wanted to be a cowboy, Itachi was going to help him be that in any way he could. It was exciting, getting pulled into that little secret rebellion filled with almost lies. It made Itachi feel important and special. At twelve, even a genius wanted to feel special to someone. Maybe that was why it seemed important instead of pathetic. Why he stayed up too late letting Shisui talked and got up too early to load a horse into an old trailer and drive for an hour to a show he didn't really want to go to. Maybe it was just because it was Shisui, and people were stupid where love got involved.

A horse show where everyone knew each other but them, Where Shisui's Spanish* Bach stood out from all the Quarter Horses and Walking Horses and even more than Shisui stood out against the true minted country people.

Shisui won nothing, of course. Coming from someone used to stealing first place ribbons, Shisui should have been disappointed. He was exuberant.

"We need to do this again, soon," Shisui demanded as Itachi helped him unsaddle Bach. The sixteen hand horse was almost to tall for Itachi, always small and trying to catch up with everyone. If he stood on his toes he could barely drag the saddle from his back.

"Really?" Itachi looked at Shisui under Bach's neck. "You're not humiliated enough?"

Shisui laughed. "Are you kidding? That was the most fun I've had in a long time. This place is so cool, and that one guy without a finger gave me some good tips. He was in the team roping-big guy with the scar."

"You just described half the people here, Shisui," Itachi pointed out as he eased the bridle from Bach's mouth and adjusted the halter to fit over his nose. "Bach didn't like it."

"He'll get used to it." Shisui swung the heavy Western Saddle from the horse's broad back, setting it on the side of the truck. He looked at Itachi, still beaming, still out of breath and tousled. His hat was off, his sleeves rolled up. His jeans were dirty, his boots mud crusted at the edges. Maybe Shisui was starting to look a little more natural.

But if he started chewing, Itachi was stapling his lips shut.

"No, he won't. If you're really going to be serious about this, you're going to need another horse." Itachi grabbed a rag to rub Bach down with. The heat of the spring day wasn't bad, but the sun was bright enough Bach had gotten damp under the saddle. He'd itch like crazy if they just let it dry.

"Maybe, but..." Shisui shrugged and reached over to stroke Bach's nose. "Uncle'd never let me board a horse like that at his stable." But his eyes had that dreamy look Itachi _knew_. Shisui was imagining his new dream horse, fantasizing about being amazing at his newest obsession.

"We'll work on that. First we have to figure out what kind of horse you need." One of these horses had to cost less than the jumpers Madara turned out, right? Itachi knew nothing about bloodlines of Quarter Horses or any of the other horses here, if they were as vaunted and needful in the show ring. Any horse in his Grandfather's stable he could trace lineage back like he could his own family, but a name was half the performance for them.

"We'll work on it? Do my ears deceive me? Have I converted a die-hard fanatic?" Shisui asked. Itachi glared, but the thousand pound beast between them killed the effect.

"No, you just don't have enough sense to do this on your own, so I'm going to make sure you don't make anymore of a fool out of yourself than you already have. For the family honor." Itachi dropped the rag back in the brush bucket and looked at Shisui. Shisui was giving him that dopey grin. That stupid dopey grin that made Shisui look like he was seven kinds of stupid. And kind of made Itachi's stomach a little too warm.

"You know, you're adorable sometimes."

Bach was so used to them he didn't even spook as Itachi kicked Shisui in the shins.

Yes, Shisui's cowboy phase was kind of adorable-in an annoying way only Shisui could manage.


	4. 4::Itachi Shisui::Shattered

**Stream of conscious, mentions of sex, confused definitions of love.**

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><p>It's hard for me to say what exactly was broken in Itachi's head. Something was broken, and I knew it. I never knew <em>what<em>, though. And me—I'd been climbing around in people's head by the time I was ten like most kids my age were climbing around jungle gyms—ninja kids.

So I had pretty much always known, something inside Itachi's head was broken.

And it was beautiful.

Imagine a glass window. A perfect window that changes color as the light hits it. Then imagine smashing that window. The glass shatters, but none of it falls. It just all hangs in the air, not really window shaped but you can recognize it as window. All the little pieces reflect light differently, Each one has a different hue, shade, brightness, and they constantly change and flicker and quiver. The only problem is, they're sharp. When you bump them, you bleed, and they fragment just a little more.

I did try to fix Itachi. I think I made him a little worse, but maybe he got worse all on his own. I even tried to give him antipsychotics once. I figured crazy person plus anti-crazy drugs would mean negative craziness. It didn't. It meant sewing Itachi arms shut after the bathroom incident. Fixed is no better than broken, and when something takes your breath away, bask in it. Love it. Cherish it. Don't change it.

Before I get any farther into this, I should say, I've always loved Itachi. From the first time I saw him, I loved him. He could have been depraved and wicked as well as broken, and I still would have loved him with everything I had. There really was no choice in the matter. Thankfully, he wasn't. He was heart-breakingly human and compassionate when we met. Things changed, of course, but that little child was the true essence of what Itachi was for me through the years.

I met Itachi when I was six and he was two. Grandmother Chichi had gotten Itachi from Aunt Mikoto. I wondered, at times, if Mikoto had known there was something wrong with Itachi. She did seem surprised to find him alive when she came back. I was the one who kept him alive. Not that Itachi would have died without me there, but I was the one who took care of him, and I wouldn't have let anyone else take care of him. Never mind that there were lots of people way more capable of taking care of the child. I wanted to do it. I wanted to make something _live _in that den of death and decay that surrounded us in the war. Itachi pretty much attached himself to me too, so I was allowed to buoy my tremulous six year-old ego.

Those days…the war days…they all pretty much blur together. Everything runs into everything else, like watery paints trying to be a reasonable landscape but with too much red. I remember clear moments of this and that. I remember when someone actually blew something up in the compound, and we lived in shelters for what felt like months. I don't think Itachi and I were ever separated those months. We huddled in the cold ground and wished for sunshine. I sang Itachi nonsense song to drown out the other noises, and Itachi hummed them back to me, but was otherwise silent. His tiny hands gripped my arms, held my hands, and I brushed out his tangled hair every morning—or every three meals, at least. I can't say those were good times, but I look back, and those moments….Itachi's silence, the smell of him, the feel of him always near me, always connected… Those were good moments.

The humming-Itachi didn't speak for a long time. I don't know if that was the war, or if it was his head being broken. People tried for years to make him talk, something I couldn't imagine because Itachi was silence to me. He didn't speak. He was the calm center of the storm, silent and just waiting.

Of course, waiting means waiting _for _ something. Itachi did start speaking. He first spoke when he was six, and it was a long monologue to Sasuke. I remember every word. I would have been jealous, but Itachi smiled at me. Oh, he smiled for other people, but he had this special little smile that was crooked and quirky that he'd turn only on me. It was _MY_ smile.

Because I was Shisui. That's what he told me to explain so many things. Because I was Shisui, and he was Itachi, and that as all we needed to say.

Someone asked me once if I had ever kissed Itachi. I said of course, I kissed Itachi all the time. He was actually really affectionate as a kid, handing out wet little kisses all the time. before double digits turned his so aloof. He was a limpet too, always in my lap or clutched to me. I had to return kisses, or he'd give me a very heart broken look. Itachi spoke with his eyes like no one else. Maybe it was a precursor to his powerful Sharingan, or maybe I was just hopeless against him. Maybe I already knew denying Itachi anything was useless.

But, that wasn't the kind of kisses they meant. They meant mouth kisses. Love kisses. The answer's still yes. Three times. I kissed Uchiha Itachi three times.

Loving Itachi is complicated, and not just because he's broken, but how he is. I can't really explain it, not quite. I had three girls from twelve to seventeen I could count as girlfriends. None of them I loved as I loved Itachi. I had sex with two of them. Reiko was an Uchiha, but Kagome…she was a civilian. Sex with Reiko was almost like some duty that had to be preformed. Strictly business, minimal fondling, clumsy cold kisses, and a hot-cold fire that burned every thought up. Kagome. Sex with Kagome was…well, it was. She was full of life a desire and always had something _new_ to try. It was always a wild breathless experiment all about us. All about what felt good and what made someone scream. That was sex to remember, but it helped me see something.

Uchiha do not touch. Perhaps it comes from being a war clan, but Uchiha to not touch. Any Uchiha touching comes from an obligation. It's okay to touch when you're young, because children need it. It's okay to touch to teach someone how to fight. Okay to touch in spars. Okay to touch in fights, but there is a lack of personal intimacy in touches. Itachi, who rocketed through the ranks, floundered at first. He was used to touch, used the clinging, and his sudden growth to ninja had placed him socially older than his physical age. Itachi learned, quickly as he always did, not to touch. To avoid touch. His parents praised him, saying how grown up he was. How very grown up.

But Itachi needed touch like a tree needed sun.

How to explain…how to know? What do you feel when your little cousin walks up to you, the little baby cousin you adore who's been so distant lately, walks up to you, and tells you he doesn't feel anything? That he looked at the little brother he loved and felt nothing? That people were only disgusting bags of flesh filled with hated emotions? How to you describe the horror, the fear, the sudden agony of your being as you try to hold on tight enough to mean something to your cousin who just doesn't _feel_ anything anymore.

Itachi needed touch. He needed it to feel human and connected.

So he touched me.

I was an anchor for my cousin. I was the heavy rock that bound him to humanity. He wrapped his arms around me and listened as I spoke. He endured the soft touch on the back of his hand while we stood in line to file missions. His foot wedged up my pants leg under tables. He struggled to be human, and he spread my thin hand between his as he tried to remember the concepts of compassion and sympathy—that I could feel his touch and warmth as he could feel mine. He orbited me like an uncertain sun, crashing into me again and again as the sky around us thinned.

We were good Uchiha. We didn't touch where people could see. We acted like we were normal when we were the farthest thing from it. And, I wonder, if someone had ever seen Itachi grab my hand and smile, if anyone had ever heard him laugh, had known what he was beyond the precarious Uchiha façade, if things would have turned out differently—if someone would have questioned, if his name would be something other than a curse.

"Shisui."

I don't know when he started calling me by my name instead of calling me brother. He lisped a bit at first. Then his tone fell flat, and in the company of others, his greeting was dull and respectful. When no one was listening, when I had been gone for more than a week, Itachi would look up at me with his imperfect smile. His voice would rise and fall, pitched and singing.

"Shisui."

My heart didn't stop. My pulse didn't flutter, but I never more wanted to bury my face in Itachi than when he said my name. His voice said I was special. His smile said I was the only one he'd ever hold in that place. I was smitten. Totally, fully, devoted to Itachi with every fiber of my being, and so he was with me.

At some point, I, in my idiotic brilliance, decided that Itachi could be fixed. I never told anyone my cousin was crazy-broken in his head. I simply did some research, looked into things, and then pressed the small bottle of pills into Itachi's hand.

"There's something wrong with your head." I though self-delusion had no place in our life. I thought I was doing him a favor by shoving his problem into his face and screaming it at him.

"This will make you better." Itachi wrapped his hand around the cold bottle, and looked in my face. He didn't nod. He didn't smile. He just looked with wide, vacant eyes.

Never had I ever implied that my cousin was broken. Never had I implied, in any way, I found something wrong with him. Now, I offered him a way to be better. I said, with those words, that he wasn't good enough for me. That I wanted him to be different. That I didn't love him as much as I possibly ever could.

My stupidity lead to Itachi's blood all over my bathroom floor. My baby cousin staring at me. He'd tried. He'd tried for me to be different. To be better. He'd tried so hard, but it had never worked.

Imagine that window. Imagine its beauty. Now, cover it with oil—slick, flat black oil that corrodes anything it touches. Call it pretty. Call it better.

Call it fucking fixed.

"It didn't work." Itachi voice was choked. Dizzy frantic. "Shisui, it didn't….I _tried_." He'd tried for me, even though he'd known for what had to be weeks the drugs were making him worse. He'd kept taking them because I had said they would make him better.

There was blood all down Itachi's arm. Old scratches, the broken mirror, glass in his hair. He could never tell me what had happened, but something had happened. Something bad. Something in his head that had scared him badly.

I took his bloody elbows in my hands, and he tried to push me away. I told him it was okay, that I was sorry. That I was stupid. He struggled. Said he was sorry. Apologized for not being good enough, For failing me when I had failed him.

I kissed him there, in the broken bathroom. I kissed him, and his lips tasted like blood and vomit. His cracked lips quivered under the press of mine, uncertain and broken down. His lips firmed as his hands found my shirt front. He pressed himself—his lips, his body—against me for a moment, then his body gave an odd like jerk, his mouth opened for a soft little cry too much like a sob.

I flushed the drugs. I tore them apart and threw them away. I told everyone I had given Itachi the illness from Mist I'd had last week, and lived in the confines of my little apartment, convincing the center of my universe he was just that. I was stupid. I was selfish, and I had almost killed the sun with my brilliance.

It's not like we got along all the time. We fought, but we always made up. Ashes, we fought. We usually tried to kill eachother when fights got too serious. Live steel and fire hot enough to crack skin were pretty normal for us. Touch is touch, and sometimes the greatest confirmation of life was pain, crashing into someone and fighting for every breath.

I'm sure Itachi never meant to choke me into unconsciousness. Positive. It was only seconds, but the moments before, I felt the expert clamp of Itachi's fingers on my throat…

Do you believe in fate? I woke up with Itachi straddling my stomach. He was looking at his hands, staring at them as if they'd just grown on his arms. I, sick and dizzy, couldn't move more then to flop my head to the side. Itachi looked past his hands to me. He leaned down, pressing his hands into the angry red marks on my neck.

Then, and only then, I felt a flutter of fear. I saw my cousin for what he really was. A killer with only a firm grip on humanity and its compassions.

"Tachi."

Itachi rocked forward, giving me his full attention. His eyes were bright. His mouth half open in a red lined question. Excited. Inquisitive. What would happen if he did it again? For a few seconds longer?

"Tachi, stop." _Please_.

Itachi's lips closed.

"_Tachi_."

His hands peeled back. He rolled off of me. He stood. Walked away. I pushed myself up, touching the red swelling on my throat. It burned more than it ached. It wasn't anything bad.

"Does it hurt?" Itachi looked at the sky.

"No." I dropped my hand.

"Good." Itachi rocked back on his heels, hands laced behind him. He went from toe to heel. Toe to heel.

"It felt good." Itachi kept rocking. I paused in the act of standing.

"In a bad way." Itachi tipped his head up farther, and I could almost see the shudder run through him. I stood up and walked up behind Itachi. I placed a hand on Itachi's hands, breaking them apart. Itachi leaned back and looked up at me—wide eyes filled with something deep and murky.

"If I killed you, I could be the strongest." There was no excitement. No relish in the thought. Only dread.

I leaned my forehead against Itachi's forehead. My throat didn't bruise, but I carried the crescent shaped cuts and circle bruises of Itachi's fingers on my hands for weeks.

What about the massacre? Is that what you're asking me? Or maybe you want to know about the other two kisses? Maybe you want me to go back and started again, putting everything in order? There is no order here. Everything fades and grows together, crashing around. The conspiracy isn't important. It stopped. We stopped it. Itachi matters. He's still going.

He's going with his partner—that guys named Kisame. Sometimes I wonder if Itachi gets his medicine from Kisame. I wonder if the large man allows for the tiny touches, or if Itachi abstains. I wonder if he slowly goes mad for lack of me. The thought's a flush of…something. There's not a name for that tingly feeling of too much rushing blood. Oh, that I would wish my cousin mad…

Would you choose fidelity, the sorrow of constant loneness? The dangerous maw of insanity? Would you wish your other half on without you, propelling them into the unwise hands of another? Would you pray for kindness? Would you pray to never be overshadowed? Would you weep?

Yes. You would weep, because your other half is beyond your reach. Your soul has moved on, and you're just a hollow shell. You'll cry while you still can, and savor those last flavors of loved.

I loved you.

I love you.

Did you hear something?

Kisame glanced at Itachi. "Pardon?"

Itachi blinked his heavy eyes. He opened his mouth and tasted the cold, salty air. The spray of the sea ran down his face and stung his eyes. "Nothing." Itachi shrugged off the supporting hand curled against his skin.

"It was nothing.

Let's go."


	5. 6::AU::Kisame Itachi::Scavengers

"Scavenger's Salvage—how quaint." Kisame glanced at his partner. A week after the surgeries, Itachi was still wheeling around, but the bandages had come off in places. He glanced up at Kisame, the heavy black glasses hiding his eyes, but his eyebrows and lip setting saying enough.

"I thought it was fitting." Itachi rubbed the head of the mechanical crow on his shoulder. The bird preened and then took off for the upper reaches of the large warehouse. "It was nice of Kakuzu to give you that loan." Itachi wheeled his way into the building. Though he'd sworn he'd make Kisame find him a manual chair, his left shoulder was still healing. He moved well enough in the power chair, fingers tapping on the control board.

"Maybe he got tired of me whining about how bored you'd be," Kisame rumbled as he too looked around. The place was empty, but if you were going to run a junk shop, you needed space. It didn't have to look pretty, but where would they sleep? As close as they were, they both did like to have privacy once in a while, and Itachi hated sleeping in open places.

"I'm sure," Itachi glanced back over his shoulder. After over six year as Itachi's partner, Kisame was pleased to not that his skills of hair braiding were much better. The braid he'd wrangled Itachi's hair into this morning was tight and hadn't fallen apart yet. "How much interest is he charging us? Fifty percent?"

"Lower than that…." Kisame rubbed the back of his head. Itachi snorted. They both knew it wasn't much lower. "He expects us to pay him back soon."

"Utter faith, I see." Itachi turned around and his lips smiled. "I'll get the license all sorted, then."

"License?"

"Yes. If we're going to operate for any amount of time, I want a neutral ground license. They don't have a neutral scrap dealer here, so we should find business, and it will be easier to get business of no one's worried about being arrested for a bounty," Itachi explained, though Kisame knew all of this.

"You think _you_, inter-spacial criminal that you are, can get a neutral trader's license, even on this little planet?" Kisame asked.

"Yes, I can. I'm halfway there. You should know better than to doubt me, Kisame." Itachi leaned back lazily and pressed his fingertips together, looking all too much like Madara.

"I don't doubt. I question to keep things like the Viridian incident from happening again."

Itachi had the decency to look sheepish. At least he'd stopped winging things at Kisame's head when that was mentioned. It had been years ago, but still-! Some things should never be let go and, more importantly, never forgotten.

"And once it gets out our names are in this, you think anyone's going to trust us?" Kisame pointed out.

"They will. I have a contact here with some good rapport with the…less legal side of things. He'll let it be known we mean business, and that we won't be using this to collect bounties. If anyone violates the neutral agreement while here, well…" Itachi smiled. "I think we can take care of that."

"You know, the reason we're doing this is to keep you from tearing something up before you're completely healed." Kisame was feeling the urge for a strong drink. Funny, before Itachi drinking had been fun, not mandatory. Kids ruined everything. Kisame had been careful not to get anyone pregnant and he still had to deal with kids-a kid. One kid hell bent on making everything twice as hard as it had to be.

"I thought it was so I wouldn't complain about being bored. I'll need to wire this place up," Itachi turned around again, taking in the rusted building. "Can you take care of the structural problems?"

Kisame scoffed. _"Now_ who's doubting."

"I was only asking to be polite. I never doubt." Itachi looked up at the darkened and exposed metal rafters. The crow sat on one, red eye gleaming down at them. It cawed, highly unmusical and very morbid. Like a dead man's chuckle.

Kisame couldn't see Itachi's smile, but he could hear it. "I think I'm going to like it here."

* * *

><p>Itachi was in charge of all the technical aspects of how the business would run. He was the one who hummed and wondered if they could make it a satellite business-it would really be better for them. Kisame just posed impossibilities and smiled to himself as Itachi kicked those all down with a calm decision. The boy wasn't a fighter, though he was a good one. He was a builder—a puzzle solver.<p>

He was also one hell of an electrician and programmer.

Kisame was good with wiring, but Itachi was worlds above him in programming. Kisame could fix things better. He was best with his hands, and while Itachi was a great mechanic, he lacked Kisame's natural flair and intuition for machines. Give him something to solder and he was perfectly mortal, albeit talented but mortal. Give him something to program, and the kid was a god.

Especially hands off programming. Another week later, Itachi was in a wheelchair he himself powered, but he spent most of his time wallowing on the floor. Kisame has tired of cracking jokes about that and dodging things within the first two days. Itachi only threw things because he knew Kisame didn't like it, and he believe in negative as well as positive reinforcement to train people. Today Itachi sat with his back against the wall, eyes closed. He had his implant hooked to the wall. The crow sat on his knee, pecking his fingers from time to time. Kisame shook his head and went back to fixing up rooms. The crow would come get him is Itachi needed to be hauled out.

So far, he and Itachi had been sleeping in the Star, which really only had one bedroom—and that was tiny—but it was better temperature controlled then the warehouse. Kisame was working on getting everything air tight right now, which was a pain. Another grudging call had been made to Kakuzu to get a land craft so Kisame could get the supplies he needed, but it was worth it. Itachi wasn't fretting or messing with things he shouldn't be fiddling with yet, and the implants all seemed to be taking this time.

Kisame had been sleeping in his Bull, which, while larger than Itachi's Stingray, was still not that comfortable. Both were top grade fighters, though, and all they could fit in the dock bay of the Star. The Star was small herself, but fast enough with enough fire power that Kisame was confident taking her almost anywhere. If there was going to be serious fighting, Kisame and Itachi defaulted to their fighters. Itachi was, undoubtedly, the better fighter. That was in part due to his Stingray. One of the smallest fighters out there, the Stingray left no room for a second person to pilot. Most ships had a double cockpit system, allowing for one person to fly and another too shoot. A Stingray sacrificed that room for speed and engine space. Handled correctly, they were some of the deadliest little ships out there. Itachi's technique amazed Kisame more, because the kid flew an open system, constantly running the programs that kept the fighter's feeds up. Of course, he wasn't doing all that alone.

The crow cawed and shook all over. It didn't rattle, but the feather substitutes were not quite like organic feathers, giving the bird a characteristic chatter noise whenever it moved. Kisame looked up from his welding. The bird cawed again.

"What, do I need to come get him out?" Kisame asked. The bird bobbed his head. Kisame sighed and flipped the reader of his half-plant up.

_Lunch time~_

The happy green print flashed on the screen. Kisame turned off his torch and stood. He didn't have a full wireless implant like Itachi, but a hobcobbled deal his partner had made up to help Kisame pilot his fighter and keep up with what Itachi himself was doing. It also allowed for the crow to speak to Kisame, which was helpful at times and annoying at others.

"Am I going to fry him if I pull him out right now?" Kisame asked, crouching down by Itachi and the crow. The crows squawked and ruffled its feathers, looking very indignant. Kisame sighed and reached out, placing two fingers on Itachi's arm.

"Itachi, time to eat." There was no instantaneous reaction. Itachi could sense it was Kisame and therefore no threat. Within a few moments, the boy began to rouse himself from the programming. His breathing changed to something less regular, and his body twitched as all senses reengaged. Itachi opened his eyes. The glasses were off, and Kisame was confronted with the quiet red of mechanical eyes. The new design was interesting, no doubt. Kisame thought the more complicated, the more likely they were to break down, but no one had asked his opinion before they'd stuck the things in his partners head.

"I suppose I should be happy I'm hungry again." Itachi sighed and smoothed his hand over the crow. Crow preened against the attention, and then took flight, out over the warehouse.

"Think he likes it too?" Kisame asked, hands draped over his knees.

"He likes it anywhere." Itachi stood slowly. Kisame watched warily for any signs of strain. He was a mechanic only, but he knew a lot about implants and how they should and shouldn't work. Itachi showed all the signs that this was a good recovery, and there would be no rejections. That was good. Kisame didn't like digging things out of Itachi's skin.

"He hates Suna," Kisame pointed out, standing and moving as soon as he was certain Itachi wouldn't topple.

"Everyone hates Suna," Itachi quipped. He stretched and moved easily in front of Kisame, rotating joints and stretching muscles that hadn't been used enough recently. Even with things going well, it would be another few months before Itachi was back to strength.

* * *

><p>"Done!"<p>

"Chair!"

Itachi had fallen down yesterday, embarrassing them both and pulling something in his hip. Kisame had spent at hour doing checks on Itachi's implants in that leg, listening to the very dry monologue about sexual assault while he did so. Kisame heard Itachi's body hit the chair. Kisame heard the slick of wheels across the concrete, and Itachi came skidding to a halt beside Kisame. He flicked on the screen on the table, the soft blue glow giving Itachi's face a manic cast.

Kisame glanced at the crow. "You've been in his head. Is he really that crazy or is it all just an act for me?"

Crow shrugged.

"You're right, I'm not important enough for such an act, am I?" Kisame leaned on the table. The crow shivered in a manner much like a chuckle. Then, the light went out of its eyes, and the mechanical creature collapsed onto the table. It never failed to alarm Kisamw when it did that, possible _why_ it did that. Kisame directed his gaze to the screen, and laughter crackled over the tinny speakers.

"Man, Tachi, took you long enough." A curly haired man, no older than sixteen, looked out from the screen. He waggled his long fingered hand at Itachi and then at Kisame.

"Have you got this place all wired for him?" Kisame asked.

"Yes, he can get into anything from anywhere," Itachi had that pleased smile. Kisame knew he should be annoyed. Shisui, while helpful, still often acted as a sixteen year-old. Itachi's smile made it hard to be, and, you had to cut a kid who'd been living without a body for over six years some slack. At least he wasn't bitter.

"Give it a run through and make sure I've got all the kinks worked out, okay?"

"Aaaaw, but I like kinks!" Shisui grinned, his wild hair bobbing before he vanished, winked away into the electrons that made up his being. Itachi looked at the screen, and he seemed tired. The pained marks around his mouth were not just physical, but they never had been completely. Itachi brushed his bangs back from his face, hands ghosting over the implant in the back of his neck.

"Don't start." Kisame commanded. Itachi dropped his hand and didn't answer. He finally glanced at Kisame.

"I don't remember—was he always like this, or did I make him like this?" Doubt, whether days or years old, looked the same in Itachi's eyes. Always the same, no matter what new robotics has been shoved into them. Kisame wondered how human the boy has started out to still be so much of one now.

"People change. Even memories change." Kisame shrugged.. He didn't like to lie, even though lies would make Itachi feel better for now. "He can't be the same as he was when he was alive, and you shouldn't expect him to be. He's happy, Itachi. Just leave it at that."

Itachi's eyes asked if that was enough, but Shisui appeared back on screen. "No kinks! You need to leave me some fun, Itachi!" Shisui's eyes were bright. he looked like Itachi, though less refined. Kisame had not doubt this was a perfect recreation of what the Uchiha had looked like before his death. As for the personality…well, who could tell? It only mattered to Itachi, and as long as Shisui wasn't driving Itachi mad, Kisame was content enough with the brat.

Shisui vanished from the screen and the crow came back to like. Shisui shook his feathers into position and cawed. He shuffled across the desk and hopped onto Itachi's shoulder, starting to preen the young man's hair. Itachi sighed and tried to shoo Shisui away, which made Shisui more determined.

"Will you stop?"

One thing, the most telling thing, was how Itachi reacted to his cousin. They'd been close friends, and, now, they were still friends. If Kisame ever really wondered if Shisui was still himself, he only had to watch Itachi's reactions—ranging from exasperation, to fury, to that soft delight—and he had to think this, body or not, was Uchiha Shisui.

The crow took off across the room with Itachi's hair tie. Itachi, twirling the chair, went after the crow, threatening to take his wings off. Kisame shook his head and went back to work.

_KIDS._


	6. 7:Ino Inoichi:: Sunshine

rose tinted tea cups and tiny cookies.

"You have to drink it like this." She sticks out her tiny little pinky and curls her chubby fingers around the handle of the tea cup and sips at the cloying sugar water.

rough calloused hands, chipped nails, scars, swollen joint, the ridiculous jaunt of crooked pinky

"That's right, like that," She nods and smiles, her tiny baby teeth gapped and her mouth red. Her nails have been painted pearl pink, shiny and quaint. Adorable, if that word could ever fit in your mind.

chapped lips, cracked and catching on the wavy ledge of the cup. Careful not to break the lip of the cup. Careful

"Now eat your biscuits." She reaches over and straightens the little stuffed cat beside her. It's a brown, a giant purple bow tied in a silky knot around its neck. Her neck, you remember. Her name is Sprinkles, the stuffed cat. You were told that this morning, as she was shoved into your hands at breakfast for you to brush.

small stale biscuit, crunched between the teeth like a soldiers pill. crumbs everywhere.

She smiles at you. Tiny red mouth, white teeth, blue eyes and wisps of blond hair caught back in a purple bow, all smiling at you. You, the sudden center of her universe, the sudden sun in her sky.

blood stuck in the corners of nails, scars and dark thoughts about bows around necks

"Daddy, Daddy, drink your tea!"

A little girl with the sun in her hair and your heart in her eyes.

"How was tea time?" You carry in the sticky dishes, covered in crumbs and sugar. She twirls outside. You can see her through the window, stuffed cat flying in one hand.

"Tea time was fine." No comment is made on the tears in your eye, blurring the bright garden and the spinning girl into a dash of yellow sunlight fallen into your quaint little garden straight into your heart.


	7. 8::Team 8:: The Club

They had a club for unrequited love towards people that didn't even know you existed. Hinata was undisputed president since she'd been ignored the longest. Kiba was spokesperson, and Shino was just there on principle. Kiba had suggested they invite Ino, but that idea had been unanimously shot down by stutters and a bug in the ear.

Maybe it wasn't actually a club. They were just Team 8, hanging out, but Kiba thought of it as a club so he wouldn't feel alone. Hinata still mooned over Naruto, he had yet to realize it or even pay much attention to Hinata, really. At least he'd taken up her cause once, even if he ahd left without a word after that, but anyway...

Kiba was mooning after Sakura. He didn't know if she was still in love with Sasuke, or if she was just still caught up in the drama of her team being broken, but she never gave ihim/i the time of day. She hadn't dismissed him, but she never really noticed him. She was too focussed on everything else. Kiba sat as that guy she knew, who'd been in the Academy, yeah him.

Shino had yet to confess any secret longings, but Kiba included him under the pretext that any love Shino might muster up would probably be unrequited because off all the rumors about the Aburame. Eyeless freaks filled with parasitic bugs. Yes, that was what they were. Nevermind Shino, Kiba felt, was often the one propping him and Hinata up. Shino was their core, and damn anyone else that couldn't understand how great he was.

"You could go for Sasuke," Kiba suggested, sprawled in the grass with Akamaru. He could feel Shino giving him that galre of ultimate scorn.

"Well, if I'm for Sakura, Hinata's got Naruto, you could just tie it all up neatly and go for Sasuke. Team on team, one big happy family," Kiba expanded, waving his hands through the air witha crooked, cracked grin over his face.

"Think about it. You're both creepy solemn, you never talk, perfect match!" Kiba laughed, and he swore he heard Hinata twitter.

"Ah, Kiba-kun. . .don't tease Shino like that. . ." Hinata protested. Kiba glanced up and saw that she was twisting a flover crown together with fall grass.

"I'm serious."

"You're facetious," Shino corrected. He crossed his arms and Kiba could hear the muted buzz of insects. "While I'm sure that my seducing Sasuke back to the good side would make your chances of love much easier to obtain, I both doubt my ability to seduce and remain happy."

"So what you're saying is. . ."

"Even if it did work, it would be a short, torrid affair ending in a messy break-up that would have an adverse effect on your own attempts at happily ever after," Shino nodded gravely. "I think it would be best if I contained my passions for a less problematic source."

Kiba just stared for a moment, then grinned even wider. "Dude, sometimes I love you."

"I think our group dynamic would be complicated, so I will have to rebuff your protestation. I am flattered non-the-less," Shino's dry reply came with a soft hum of insects. Not agitated, just restless.

"Threesome then?" Kiba grinned and looked to Hinata with a wink. She flushed and threw her flower garland at him.

"K-kiba!" But she was flushed behind that smile, amused like Shino was with Kiba's lewdness.

"Yosh! That's our new goal!" Kiba jumped to his feet and threw his hands in the air. "Orgy with Team 7!"

Kiba might have been the fastest and most fit on their team, but there really was no way to hide from a Hyuuga and a Aburame intent on dunking you in the cold, cold river to help you 'inhibit the uncontrolled passions of adolescence' that were obviously getting the better of his sense.


	8. 9:: Ino:: Bitch

Ino is a bitch.

She gained that name from the other girls in their last year at the Academy. The fist girl who said it ended up poisoned by lunch. The second and third developed horrendous body odor. Then, it ceased to bother Ino. After all, the girls were right.

She was a bitch, and she was going to be proud of it.

She was mean, she was hard, she didn't take flak from any boy, girl, woman or man. She thought much of herself, and why not? She was Ino Yamanaka, and no one had better forget it. It took a tough woman to be a Kunoichi, and that was what Ino was going to be. Sure, she liked boys, she mooned over Sasuke, but that was because Sasuke was the pinnacle. He was the top of the class, and if Ino could get him, she'd win. What she'd win wasn't so clear, but it would be a win. Oh, it helped that Sasuke was hot and all mysterious, but it was mostly because he was the best. Ino wasn't the best herself, but she could certainly have the best.

By Gennin, she had embraced her title of bitch, though fewer people used it. Shikimaru only called her that once before she knocked him out. Chouji never did, though he might have thought it. Ino was just trying to whip her sorry boys into shape. They were her team, and if they didn't make a good showing thay'd be letting down the Ino-Shika-Cho tradition! They had to make a good team. iHad to./i

Ino was a bitch, and you didn't mess with a bitch unless you wanted to get bitten.

She knew her limits. She wasn't the best, she needed work, and she would never be the best. She did have things she was going to do. Like never let her team down. Drilling endlessly past exhaustion to get their formations right and learn everything about eachothers techniques. They were going to be a team, and maybe if they couldn't be the best alone, they could be the best together.

"I'm a bitch, you're lazy, and Chouji's fat." Ino sat tucking flowers into Shikimaru's hair.

"Sorry your team's not glamorous,' Shikimaru muttered, not really awake.

Ino laughed. "It just makes me look better."

And she wanted to look better, because maybe that school girl crush on Sasuke was something more, and gods he was so hot. He excelled and made every around him look bad-especially those in his team. Ino was no glad they hadn't been placed on a team together for that reason. Chouji and Shikimaru saw her at her worst, rarely at her best. At this point, she couldn't take that risk with Sasuke. Her resolve to make Sasuke hers was even stronger now. Goals? Let Sasuke know she was interested and show him she was the best kunoichi for the job. Bloodlines were important to clanners, something Sakura couldn't understand. It gave Ino an edge. Sasuke wasn't looking for a nice personality (not that Sakura had that, but...).

Her edge walked out of Konoha when she was thirteen. Sasuke left. Her boys couldn't bring him back, and now he was a Missing-nin. A bad guy. It was one thing to moon after an 'bad boy' another to pine after a village betraying criminal. Childhood affections still held on, but fourteen was young, and ther were hot boys aplenty in Konoha, all willing to have a litle fun. Winning Sasuke had just gotten harder, and Ino wasn't going to give up. She trained twice as hard with Sakura and Chouji to make Chuunin, getting all the silly sad little Team 7 stories she could stand, which made it easier to put Sasuke on the back burner. Chuunin first, then think boy.

Then get your heart broken. What did you know? Even bitches had hearts.

"You can have him."

Sakura looked up at Ino, who felt more like a ninja than she ever had in the new uniform. "Who?"

"Sasuke," Ino shrugged when Sakura flinched. Oh, she'd cried when she's heard about everything he'd done, but that had been more for something she'd known was dead for years. Ino knew how villages and loyalties worked. Missing-nin were not people you could trust or love. She practically deserved getting hurt like that for hanging onto Sasuke for far too long. It had taken her too long to let go of someone who didn't deserve her. Hadn't she always wanted the best?

"He's an ass," Ino flipped her hair over her shoulder and shrugged.

Sakura still gave her that dumbfounded look for five seconds longer, then she smirked. "Donkey and the pig? Sounds like a good match to me."

Ino scoffed, waving a hand. Her nail polish was chipped. Probably wouldn't get a chance to fix that for a while. "Funny billboard brow, really funny. I've got my own boys to look out for, so you've got to take care of yours on your own." There was love, then there was team love. Sakura looked at Ino, clouded green eyes, and Ino knew Sakura had never given up. Sakura would never understand how to let go of a missing-nin who didn't deserve anything anymore.

Ino couldn't blame her. Sakura didn't have ninja parents, she didn't have the edge Ino had when it came to knowing these things. Also, she was a bleeding heart, not a cold bitch who knew when to kick some bastard in the nuts for break her heart, her best friend's heart, and throwing himself into the wrong side of a war that would get them all killed.

Ino was a bitch, but that was the way to survive this world.


	9. 10:: Kakashi Iruka:: Shots

It's an old tradition Iruka teaches him in the bar, the morning after. Too early for drinks, but in a life of too lates, it works out.

A teacher's tradition. One shot for each student lost.

Five other teachers join then, Asuma watches, no drinks and only the stale taste of cigarettes to remind him of the bitterness of life. One old teacher doesn't seem to have enough, and Kakashi is told:

_When you can't drink them all, that means it's time for you to let go._

This can't be healthy, but Kakashi watches as Iruka lines up the bitter, bitter shots, more poison than pleasure. Iruka names all five. He rotates through names on different days, because Iruka hasn't learned how to let go. Each name has a face. A story. A death.

Kakashi doesn't want to know about them.

Instead, he taps the cold glass on the counter. Everyone stares at him, and he drags the mask from his face.

_Sasuke_.

One motion, bitter burning bit of a taste, blazing an acid trail all the way down as he swallows. Kakashi's eye waters, and Iruka something between slaps and pats him on the back. Camaraderie in failure. In grief.

Kakashi feels no better, no closer to absolved. He's told:

_That's not the point. You remember-his face, what you did wrong, what happened to make you lose him, and, next time, you do a kid better, and you don't lose him._

Kakashi feels almost compelled to point out multiple shots some down, ask why 'better' does not seem to be good enough. Iruka has that sickly sideways look of pain in his eyes, and Kakashi tactfully does not speak his though, or ask why Iruka drank a shot for Sasuke too.


	10. 12::Kakashi::Politics

Kakashi hated politics.

He really shouldn't have taken Team 7 on, no matter how they intrigued him. Sakura posed no problem. She had civilian parents, no real concept of what it meant to be a ninja, and Kakashi didn't know if she'd actually stick it out. Her infatuation with Sasuke would only carry her so far, but he wasn't going to drag the girl into things too quickly. These peace kids were so very different from what he was used to, he was not certain how to gauge them. Only Sasuke showed the normal gravity and blood lust, and Kakashi would not call him typical.

More like broken.

It was taken for granted that Kakashi, as the last possessor of the Sharingan, would teach Sasuke how to use his. Assuming he had it. Kakashi didn't think anything was certain. No one talked about the Uchiha that popped up with the Sharingan, but they had happened. Obito had worried obsessively about his Sharingan activating. Needlessly, but obsessively. Sasuke, well, time would tell if he had more than Gennin promise. He was nothing like Obito, completely opposite and uncomfortably like the Uchiha stereotype Kakashi had grown wary of.

Beyond the unstated obligation people seemed to think he ought to have towards Sasuke, there were other complications with teaching the boy. One, he'd never be satisfied with a moderate pace that Kakashi would rather take with these kids. Two, there was the subtle suggestion he'd gotten that, maybe, Sasuke shouldn't be pushed to his full potential. After all, his brother had gone crazy and slaughtered his entire clan. Enable Sasuke, and who knew what he would do? Kakashi could see it stemming from the age old distrust of the Uchiha. Yeah, the Uchiha were great, after they were dead and couldn't cause anymore problems.

Kakashi didn't have anything against Sasuke personally, but he was getting tired of having pivotal Uchiha in his life. The kid gave him a queasy feeling, and after Obito and Itachi, Kakashi was starting to think, not that all Uchiha were bad, but and he managed to come into contact with ones that ended badly. Obito has caused much guilt and many changes in Kakashi's life, some not really pleasant or helpful. Though there was really no way Kakashi could blame himself for what Itachi had done, he had just had coffee with the boy the morning before. Itachi had seemed exceptionally normal, even cracking a joke. A bad, rather morbid joke, but ANBU humor wasn't very nice either, so Kakashi had let it slide. He;d thought Itachi had been trying, an failing, to be normal.

It didn't make him the best person to mentor Sasuke, who seemed on the path to flying off the handle as Itachi had.

And then. Naruto. Political complications likely to strangle Kakashi.

Disregarding his blinding personality, Naruto was Konoha's jinchuuriki. More than that, he had the Kyuubi shoved into his stomach after the creature had demolished a good portion of Konoha. While Naruto hadn't done it, people had directed their anger at him. Now the kid acted like he had something to prove, which he did, but no one wanted him to prove it. The council was of two minds about Naruto. He was a great asset, but he was also wild and unpredictable. Sarutobi had demanded he be allowed to become a ninja, but now Kakashi had people leaning on him, hinting that maybe, just maybe, Naruto would be safer in Konoha, you know? Wouldn't want someone else to steal their demon box, now would they? Kakashi hid behind his porn when this happened, and the pleasant 'I'm sorry, were you talking to me?' often worked to dissuade people. Not all people, but some. It convinced them he was bumbling and harmless. Just another crazy jounin, that was him.

He felt a little partial and repulsed by Naruto. He was Minato's son, but he was also a great reminder of the man's death. It helped that he didn't act a thing like Minato, but his personality also grated of Kakashi's nerves. The loud bravado was getting old fast, and Naruto seemed to be as socially blind as he was color blind. Orange, really? Was he trying to make himself a more visible target? Kakashi didn't believe in pushing people into the rather damning role of the ninja. Naruto would figure out how to work it or that it wasn't for him soon enough. Kakashi would make sure the kid didn't kill himself before then.

Really, he still couldn't decide why he'd taken on Team 7. They were only going to cause trouble and potential heartbreak. Maybe Kakashi was a cynic, but these kids both disgusted and aggravated him. They were too young, too niave, and had no idea what they were getting into as they squabbled amongst each other. They reminded Kakashi of his own team, and that did not bode well.

No, Kakashi got the feeling the story of Team 7 would not be a happy one, and now he'd shackled himself to another heartbreak.


	11. 14:: Itachi Kisame:: Control

Itachi is an odd puzzle.

Madara sells him with that smile that says he knows more than he says,but he sells him as a prodigy that has just killed his entire family as a test. Kisame, a true believer in the pervasive fabrication of reality, takes nothing at face value and pushes his new little partner when they meet. Itachi pushes himself as not a fish, not bound to the ideology of violence, lies, and kin slaying Kisame knows to be the only way of the world.

For a sadist, Itachi plays quite the pacifist.

Itachi tries to sell himself as what Madara issues him to be, and what he needs the world to see him to be. Thirteen years living is still young, Kisame ponders that he has lived almost twice as long as his killer partner. He does not doubt Itachi's status as a killer. He doubts the boy's sincerity in his killing fervor. Give a man red eyes, and they can still be cold. Give him slaughter, and his heart can still shrink from it, body be repulsed, mind sidestep the glory of a blood bath. Kisame has been killing for years. He has known killers, slain killers, watched ninja grudgingly stick a knife in someone. Kisame considers himself an expert when it comes to death and the attitudes people carry about it.

Itachi does not fit as a killer.

At first, Kisame feels only the niggling doubt that this child is not what he has been told he is. Thirteen is young, even an old thirteen like Itachi's. For the first month, Itachi acts the perfect robotic ninja. He does as told, eats without relish, moves with the contained, dispassionate grace of someone doing a job with no enjoyment, no remorse, no emotion at all. A perfect little psychopath.

Almost a month to the day-Kisame counts later when he knows more and realizes a month to the day of Shisui's death-Kisame wake to the soft, tiny, suppressed inward breath of a broken child. Itachi sits watch, still silence in the woods, back ramrod straight. The quiver of a shoulder, the upward twitch of the head. The absence of breath then another, muffled, sharp, needy gasp for air coupled with that high, involuntary sound Kisame hasn't heard in years. It takes another little gasp, followed by an imperceptible sniff to make Kisame realize his little mechanical partner is crying. The ridiculous thought that Itachi will rust invades Kisame's mind, pushed out by the morbid speculation that, once again, nothing is as it is. Itachi is a lie. Try as he might, he cannot impersonate so fully something he is not, not yet, not completely.

Uchiha Itachi is a perfectly functional human being with regrets and sorrows.

The Sharingan hides the red eye in the morning, but Itachi does not preform as normal. Kisame watches and the boy stumbles. His hands stutter through motions, he eats nothing, he looks at the tea Kisame places in front of him with eyes a fraction too wide, lips a bit uniform. What Itachi is remains a mystery, what he isn't became all too clear. Not a murderer in cold blood. Not heartless. Not one who killed with satisfaction of a job well done or a challenge well fought.

No, Itachi is a child. Thirteen and aching with what he doesn't know. For what Kisame doesn't can guess, in the Mist style three ringed necklace Itachi wears, and the Mangekyou that makes his eyes bleed with guilt. Rivers bring Itachi low, erode any sense of control the boy clings to with tired hands. Low fall brings bitter cold that Itachi's not used to, and the wide, sluggish river can't be one the boy has ever seen. Still, two dark haired boys dart about on the surface of the ice, laughing and calling names to each other. One wears a bright red cap, the other blinding blue as they slide and crash together on the sullen, dark river ice.

Itachi draws that tense breath through his nose, his jaw tightens, loosens, lips purse and relax before he bites his lower lip. Children and a river. Memories a killer would not cherish. Memories that would not bring him near tears in the harsh daylight of a winter morning. Itachi startles badly when Kisame touches the back of his arm-a mindless jump with no direction, no violent reaction of protection. His head whips around, for a moment Itachi looks wide open. Crazy, trapped, flying loose from all moorings and sense as he looks up _up_ at Kisame. For a moment, Kisame thought he might see a break down. A total loss of very restraint and control.

Oh wouldn't that be interesting, wouldn't it be fun?

Wouldn't it be terrifying?

Itachi's eyes dart back to the children. Body tense for a five count longer. He swallows, breaths in an unsteady breath then lets it all out.

"It's going to snow."

Something the dark clouds have told them both all day, but Kisame nods. Snow. Itachi suggested a lodging, Kisame agrees. They walk along the river bank. Before Itachi slams up a genjustu to hide them, Kisame catches him wiping tears from his face with a hand that trembles.

Not a killer, not a mechanical robot, just a child with nowhere left to turn.

Kisame gives Itachi the privacy of their room for whatever grieving ritual the boy needs to follow. He picks out foods he knows Itachi is partial too, spends too much time being beaten by the new falling snow while he considers what has changed, what hasn't, and how he will deal with all of this. The answer seems obvious. Carry on as before. He will let Itachi decide if the lie should be lived, or if it should be discarded for something more like the truth. He returns to find Itachi asleep, though he wakes when Kisame enters they door.

In that moment, the red rimmed eye are real, the disorganized hair, the bitten lip, the sleepy hand clutching the necklace like a life line. All real and intensely private.

Kisame does not fool himself into thinking Itachi could not have hidden this or that he trusts most likely reason is the simplest, the one that fits best with a thirteen year-old killer who doesn't love or wish to kill.

He simply doesn't care anymore.


	12. 15::AU:: Itachi Shisui:: Forever Groupie

Itachi hated going to parties with Shisui.

Well, he must not hate it completely. He just hated what Shisui did at parties. It always happened, and as Itachi had been to a total of seven parties with Shisui, and it happened every time, one would think he would stop going.

The problem was, Shisui played in a band.

...not that Itachi had anything against bands, not really. Some, well, yes, he did, but Shisui's band actually sounded good. They were a garage band, but Shisui was magically devoted to his guitar, constantly plucking it and playing, even when he should be doing other things. His voice was, despite his age, mid-range, with a hint of roughness on the edges that made girls flush at the sound.

Yet another thing Shisui excelled at. Itachi wasn't jealous, but it stood to mention that Shisui was second in all his classes with Itachi, first in the rest, played quarterback, had all the track records in the state by now (almost), and was the most popular smart jock in school. He could do no wrong.

Except now, Itachi was going to strangle him.

At least Itachi had had the foresight to drag a few of his friends along with him. It wasn't helping much. Itachi buried his head in his hands and waited to die. Something was going to hemorrhage soon and he would be spared another round of humiliation. People were cheering, but most of the sound in the room was Shisui singing.

Singing to Itachi.

A love song,

Again.

"Run baby run, don't ever look back. They'll tear us apart if you give them the chance."

If Itachi looked up, he knew Shisui would be looking right at him.(Don't say we're not meant to be.) Shisui's singing was embarrassingly earnest when ever he did this. He had a, admittedly, sexy voice. Itachi liked sounds. He was intensely visual, yes, but sound was like candy.

Shisui's voice sounded like dark honeyed candy with a granulated texture. It scraped the tongue as it melted into the taste buds. (Wishing wanting, yours for the taking.) The guitar was higher, thinner, and almost sour. (3-2-1 fall in my arms now)

Itachi peered through his fingers and found Shisui was doing that dorky heart thing with his hands as he took a break from being the 'awesome' lead guitarist. (The view from here is getting better with you by my side.) Itachi let his head thump down onto the table. He groaned. Shisui. Shisui was an IDIOT.

"Gee, Itachi, don't be so loud. Need some alone time?" Iruka asked. (Forever we'll be you and me, You and me~) Itachi picked up his head and glared. Having Shisui embarrass him was bad enough, but comments from the peanut gallery? That was taking it all just a little too far. A little more than he could take with the bass thrumming in his ears, and the wailing strains of guitar whining sour in his mouth. Shisui's band ended the song with a bang, just as Itachi kicked Iruka's chair out from under him, punching him in the face before he hit the ground. Itachi seethed out of the room, ignoring the applause and the gasps. His face was burning, and Shisui just grinned like he'd given Itachi the best present ever.

Stupid. STUPID. Shisui.

But.

Itachi was the one who always came to the stupid parties.


End file.
